


Message in a Bottle

by Sunflowersamurai



Category: Naruto
Genre: Agony, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Dreams, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Curiosity, Daddy Issues, Death, Despair, Distance, Emotional Hurt, Family, Flashbacks, How Do I Tag, Hurt, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Island - Freeform, Islands, Itachi - Freeform, Loss of Parent(s), Love, M/M, Message in a bottle, Mild Kink, Misery, Night Terrors, Nightmares, No Uchiha Massacre, Ocean, Pain, Pining, Poems, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repressed Memories, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sadness, Sea, ShiIta, Sleep Paralysis, Suffering, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Uchiha Itachi - Freeform, Unrequited Love, Violence, War, Warring, Wartime, Wartime Romance, Water, Water fetish, Writer, happiness, i am suffering, island au, mild depictions of violence, mild depression, mysterious lover, naruto - Freeform, psychological damage, shisui - Freeform, sincere love, these tags are more about me than the story at this point, uchiha shisui - Freeform, unhealthy family dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-03-05 21:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13396569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunflowersamurai/pseuds/Sunflowersamurai
Summary: The war between two islands is nearing it's end. Along the shoreline of the soon-to-be victorious side, walks a young man, pining for a love he's never known. As he dreams of a gentle world, a bottle floating lazily his way, carried by the morning tide, catches his eye.





	1. Intro

Itachi walked along the shoreline, scattering the sand into fountains as he strolled in the early morning. It was cold, the sea breeze chilled him to the bone and yet he found solace here where his only company was the gulls that flew overhead on silver wings. Their raucous cries somehow harmonious with the crashing of the waves brought on by the morning tide soothed him for reasons he could not explain.

His dark hair flowed in the wind, fluttering at the ends like a startled starling taking flight from a bush. Dark eyes gazed forlornly across the vast sea in front of him, longing for _something._

 

 _Something,_ he thought.

 

He spent many hours here, before the sun kissed graciously the land. He longed for something, but for what, he did not know. He would pitter along the shore, sometimes daring to set the bottoms of his feet in the icy water. He would often daydream, his eyes growing distant as he pined, his shivering body left behind in the world he so desperately dreamed of escaping.

His hair trickled down his back as the breeze halted for a while, and he sighed. He didn’t know what it was that he wanted, but he languished for it. His long lashes fluttered as he returned to the waking world, sharing a barrage of kisses with his cheeks, which were flushed from the cold.

 

 _Something,_ it sat heavy on his heart, _but what?_


	2. Drifting, Falling

He sighed, a long, heavy sigh. The sun was announcing it’s grand entrance by the flittering stars that danced the crests of the waves. He was prepared to leave, to return to the cruel world he’d left behind, where children were robbed of their most essential happiness before they had even a chance. He was prepared to leave, but something glinting a different hue on the waves caught his eye.

 

_A bottle?_

 

He stalked tentatively into the water, hiking his yukata to spare it from the frigid waves that slapped his legs as he waded to the litter. He was annoyed, he hated such senseless litter, and he hoped no unfortunate souls had found themselves trapped within.

 

But his frustration quickly melted when he realized the bottle was sealed, and carrying a message. He picked it up with his free hand and sloshed his way back onto the sand, which now plastered to his legs like starch. He thumbed the cold glass delicately, the button of his thumb caressing the raised areas of the bottle where a design had once been. The erosion had smoothed the intricacies, but Itachi recognized the elongated curvature at the neck of the bottle.

 

 _A sake bottle…_ he pondered why someone would use a sake bottle, but it occurred to him that some bemoaning soul likely fell drunk at water’s edge and hence the bottle came to receive its message.

Itachi turned it slowly over in his palm, his eyes trailing over the bottled as it turned languidly in his hold. It was pretty in a way, he thought. The grass green stain of the glass glittered in the light, the streaks of water flowing over it caught the light and danced with it.

_Almost like garden fireflies dancing to a song only they can hear…_ he thought as he held the bottle to the morning sun.

 

The cork was well swollen with water by now, and Itachi was reluctant to break the bottle here where broken glass could easily find its way into someone’s passing foot. Bottle leisurely in hand, Itachi began strolling back up the path from which he’d come.

 

His curiosity ran away with him in tow as he made his way back home, and he wondered of what nature the message would be. He dreamed longingly that it would be of some profound nature, some godly hand resting on his shoulder and pointing him in the direction which he should wander.

 

 _It’s probably nothing,_ he tried to squander his own excitement.

 

The many years he’d spent bound by family burdens had left him a shell of the inherently wonderous child he’d once been. Wide eyed, he’d once wondered about everything in the world, had once seen only the best of what could be. But the cruelty of the world had forcibly stripped all of that simple joy away from him, and he was left with nothing. He was an empty, broken shell.

 

 _Perhaps,_ he thought, _that’s why I only collect the broken shells…_

They, too, were abandoned and damaged in an unforgiving world.

 

He thought of his exponentially growing collection of partial shells. His father had called him foolish for collecting such worthless things. He knew his father was right, but still he pocketed them as they came. It was the one simple joy he had, and he would be damned to let the world strip him of even that.

 

The sun warmed the air by the time he arrived home, his family had begun stirring now, and his brother flew down the porch steps to greet him. He smiled softly, but with an eternal tint of weariness in his eyes. The small boy snugged into him, ignorant utterly to the world that awaited him. To the world that would ruin that bliss.

 

Itachi’s heart ached with knowing. He only wished that smile could remain. If nothing more, he wished it could remain.

 

“You’re late this morning,” it was a gruff greeting.

“My apologies,” he wasn’t really sorry. In the depth of his heart he knew he purposefully stayed out as long as he could to avoid his father.

“Hurry up and eat. You have business to attend today.”

Itachi’s heart dropped. He fumbled with his food, his appetite tucked neatly away.

“You hardly eat anything, do you want to be some red light prostitute or something? You could pass for one, you know. And what the hell is that?”

Itachi was used to the mistreatment and was deft at shutting out the barrage of insults that flew endlessly his way. So deft, in fact, that he’d nearly missed the last bit, “Oh, I found it.”

“Well throw it away.”

Itachi had no intention of doing so, but it gave him a reason to leave and he graciously accepted it. He went to his room and set the bottle on it’s side beneath the covers. He gazed sadly at the clothes his mother had lain out for him. He wanted to disappear, to be as fleeting as a single flake of snow falling onto warm pink hands. To be whisked away on a gentle winter breeze, drifting, falling through the plum blossoms in February.

 

He gazed long and hard at the green stained glass.

 

 _Don’t worry,_ he thought childishly, _I won’t throw you away._


	3. Nothing More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief mild mention of depression/suicidal feelings.

Itachi dressed and washed himself with an air of reluctance about him. He didn’t want to deal with people today, though admittedly rarely did he ever. Despite himself, once he was ready he set off in the cool afternoon towards the town meeting hall. He was often forced to represent his father in war councils, and there was little more he hated.

 

As he walked grudgingly, he found himself taking in the little things. His eyes travelled slowly across the trail. He watched a songbird preening it’s forest green feathers among bright pink flowers.

 

 _That shade of green…_ he thought, _I’ve seen it before._

His mind was lazily drawn back to the glass sake bottle tucked in his bed. What he would give to skip the days troubles and read what awaited him in that bottle.

 

War council came and went, and it was late afternoon that Itachi found himself returning against the setting sun. The light was hard on his eyes as he walked, but the orange hue the evening light imbued upon the world was worth it to him. He watched the sparrow birds in the trees, and the blossoming plum flowers of late February dance in a subtle breeze.

 

And as he walked, he thought the day wasn’t so bad after all.

 

Itachi was grateful for the sunlight that kissed him softly in the cool air, washing his flushed pink cheeks in hues of tiger orange, cool brown eyes smoldering in the warming light.

February was the darkest month, hailing in clouds and short days for the majority of its stay.

 

Itachi found often that a depression overcame him during the winter season. He didn’t hate the rain or the cold or the wind, but still some gripping darkness, darker than the dreary days ahead, held him. Its hold only slackened come the warming months. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was there. Always lingering ominously in the back of his mind, dancing just out of the corners of his eye, gone the moment he turned to look and see.

 

But at the moment, there was peace. The day was bright.

 

 _The moon is full tonight,_ the thought sprung into his mind, _maybe I’ll walk to the beach._

The thought was pleasant to him, the shore his only salvation during the cold months. February brought weather too unfavorable for any who was not a fisherman by career, and Itachi relished the quiet that let him hear the lapping waves and the white gulls calling for something only they knew high overhead.

 

And he thought, perhaps he’ll read the message then, under the gentle watch of the moon.

 

He returned to an assault of questions from his father regarding the council Itachi had attended in his place, and he answered the slew levelly and methodically.

His father sighed long and hard, “Sorry I’ve been asking so much of you lately. But this war is taking it out of me. I’m not young anymore, and I don’t handle these things the way I used to.”

Itachi watched thoughtfully for a moment, “It’s all right.”

His father looked at him in obvious unbelieving, “Do you hate me?”

Itachi took his time replying, “I don’t hate you. I hate this war and what it’s done to you and to everyone.”

He knew this would start a fight. His father had openly detested Itachi’s passivism, warning him that the very attitude he thought would save lives, would cost him the lives of everyone dear to him. His inaction, would be his downfall.

But to Itachi’s surprise his father said nothing, and stood, and turned, and prepared to exit the room.

Itachi stared hard at his back, “Aren’t you going to say something?”

His father just turned wearily eyeing him, “I told you, son, I don’t have it in me to deal with some things anymore,” and with that, he saw himself out.

 

If Itachi was to be honest, those words hurt him.

 

That night, a good while after dinner, Itachi took the bottle in hand by the long neck. He walked a decent length from the house so as not to disturb or alert anyone to his antics. His dark kimono was thickly layered, his guardian against the cold. He trudged through the wooded area surrounding their house for a while before he found himself a suitable stone on which to break the glass. He carefully adjusted his grip around the neck, and gave a half swing onto the rock.

 

The glass shattered easily, and he immediately knew he’d received a small cut for his efforts as sharp pang split through one of his small fingers. Under the moonlight, he observed it, only to stick his finger in his mouth and ignore it. He dropped the remaining part of the bottle neck and picked the paper up with his now free hand.

 

He strolled through the cold night, his layered clothes keeping him mostly warm. His finger bled lazily a couple of drops as it hung now at his side, all but forgotten. He could hear now, the rhythmic sloshing of the water further ahead. The gulls were quiet in their perches.

 

Itachi drew a deep breath, the cold stinging his lungs. He exhaled all of his days troubles, his mind clearing.

 

He sat himself on a smoothed stone near the waters edge. It was cold beneath his warmth. There was enough light cascading over him to illuminate the message he held delicately cocooned between his long fingers.

 

Before he unfolded the paper, he took one last mindful lick over his finger to avoid smearing his blood onto it.

 

His breath was drawn from his body as he read the fine writing pressed into the expensive paper,

 

_An ocean birthed by tears,_

_Tears shed from some holy place above,_

_For the souls cast away,_

_By an unholy man’s war._

_So angels, tell me,_

_Why do you weep?_

_When you refuse to take action._

_And angels, tell me,_

_Why must it be me?_

_Whose heart you have destroyed._

_Why must I,_

_Alone, carry this agony to bear?_

_And why do you,_

_Angels, refuse to let me go?_

_Let me go,_

_I will plead,_

_I have seen the end of days,_

_I have seen the end of lives,_

_Of love,_

_Of humanity,_

_I beg of you,_

_To please let me sleep,_

_And not to wake me,_

_When the morning lark sings,_

_For I have nothing more,_

_Nothing more within me,_

_Nothing more to give you._

_Nothing more of the man that once was here._

 

 

Itachi read the words to himself over again. Then he dared to speak them off his lips. And they became real, this man became real. And for him, Itachi wept until the dawn arrived, praying only that his tears could somehow soothe the pain in his heart.

 

But they did not.


	4. Anguish Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of violence, description of sleep paralysis that may be disturbing to those who have experienced it.

Itachi stayed frozen to the smooth stone until the pre-morning light chased the moon from the sky. Without coherent thought, he folded the paper in his fingers and tucked it neatly into his inner pocket. He flinched as his cold hand brushed the warm skin of his chest, it drew him back to where he was. He had been walking for a time now, the wintry morning breeze ruffling his hair before allowing it to fall strand by strand tickling his cheeks.

 

Nebulous eyes gazing to the horizon where soon the sun would roll over the distant hills.

 

Itachi returned in silence, stepping as a mouse would to his room, and locking himself away. His thoughts turned stygian suddenly as he lay, _What’s wrong with me? Why am I feeling this way?_ Disgust rose in his throat, _I must be tired… I’m just worn out. That’s all._

Eventually, his torrid lids would not hold, and he gave himself up to an uneasy rest.

 

And he dreamed.

 

A phantasm of horrors harassed him, repressed sorrows of his long-lost childhood returning. A wretchedness pulled him far beneath the surface of his nightmare, and his vision was stolen by distorted memories of violence.

 

And by the crafted work of some god, sick in the head, he awakened.

At least, he thought he did.

 

But when his eyes flew open, his room was foggy and his body was seized. A weight pressed his legs to the bed beneath him and worked gradually up every inch of his body until it settled onto his chest. No more than a hair from his face he could see clearly the features of Tenma, his childhood friend. He had been violently slaughtered, cut down by enemy soldiers who laughed and jeered as he writhed in a mess of mud and blood.

 

Itachi was paralyzed by fear and something unseen as he stared at the filthy mangled face of the child before him. So close, he could feel a breath on the fine hairs of his skin.

 

He couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned. And suddenly, the worst sound he’d ever heard belted into his ears. A disembodied scream from hell itself. The same sound Tenma had made as a sword split through him.

 

Then like now, Itachi could do nothing.

 

The scream was endless in his ears. He could not blink, could not look away from the dead eyes that stared back at him. His body grew hot, erupting in sudden agony. He felt his bones shatter, his muscles felt as though they’d been ripped away. An agony since unknown to him.

 

As suddenly as it had happened, it was over.

 

Through tears, Itachi stared at the face of his alarmed mother. Light filled his room now, and his mother’s hands held him by his collar bones, fingers curled into the muscles of his shoulders.

“Itachi!”

He was gasping desperately for air, hyperventilating, he could not speak. His mother gently held the blanket over his mouth to calm him, “Itachi, it was just a dream!”

 

A few minutes passed before Itachi was recomposed. His mother caressed his face, “Oh, Itachi…” he looked into her concerned eyes, “I’ve never heard you scream like that before. You must’ve had an awful nightmare…”

 

Itachi was back under control, and immensely embarrassed now, “I’m sorry for startling you. I think… I may be overworked. That’s all.”

 

Mikoto didn’t look quite sure of that, “You’re running a high fever,” she added as she gently pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. Itachi couldn’t muster the courage to tell her he was burning hot because of his shame. “I’ll let your father know I’m keeping you in bed for a few days. I’m worried he’s to blame with his constant yanking you around to do his bidding.”

 

At his request, his mother had left to the kitchen to make him food. His gut was twisted, partially in hunger, partially in upset. Mikoto returned with a plate and something to drink, running her fingers gently through his hair, “You should eat and then rest,” she said in parting as she leaned in to give him a loving kiss on the top of his head.

Itachi tentatively ate his meal. Bright sunlight lit his room, no trace of the murky blackness that covered it during his fit before.

 

He settled down onto his side after stomaching what he could of his meal. But he did not sleep, he could not leave his eyes closed. He was deeply disturbed now, and sleep was out of the question if there was even a faint chance of having another such nightmare.

 

He pondered, as he gazed still stunned, _Tenma… Why did I remember such a thing now? What’s wrong with me?_

The sickness he felt showed no sign of exiting his stomach, he’d lain still for a few hours. Physically exhausted, but unable to grant his body the rest it desperately begged him for. Eventually, relinquishing the hope of rest, he rose and busied himself with chores.

 

It was a short while before his mother hounded him back to rest. In a compromise, he drew himself a hot bath. He sat for a short while enjoying the steam before he gently unwrapped his layered clothes. Soft fabric slid off the broad of his shoulders as he untied the binding strip around his waist. Rather vacantly, he tossed his clothes to hang nearby. He scrubbed himself clean before lowering carefully into the hot water, his own febrile body causing his mind to blank from the calescence it was now experiencing.

 

But he liked his mind when it was without use. So he welcomed the heat.

 

After a time, cimmerian eyes happened upon the inner pocket of his slackly hanging clothes. A pang of woe touched his heart as his eyes focused on the corner of a paper still tucked away in its hold.

 

_I wonder who you are, and what it was that could make a man write words so sad?_


	5. Sleep Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way overdue update~

Itachi relinquished himself to an uneasy sleep, ill at ease in his dreams. When he dreamed, he saw an abbot. They spoke, though Itachi had a deep uneasiness in his stomach. He remembered being addled by their words, though he didn’t remember what they were taking about. When his dreams continued, he found himself at the shoreline, but there was no water. Fear consumed him, he knew what it meant when the water was pulled beyond where the eye could see. But instead of seeing the impending wave, he saw the funnel of a typhoon descending upon him.

 

But before it reached him, he was jolted awake by something squirming against his back. He turned lackadaisically to find Sasuke working his way into the futon with his blanket.

“Sasuke?” his narcoleptic voice sounded almost unfamiliar.

Sasuke’s head popped up in surprise at his voice, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Hearing his genuine apology, Itachi sighed, “That’s all right. Did you have a bad dream?”

Sasuke nodded, “A scary one. I was on a big cliff and there was this really big wind and I fell.”

“And it startled you awake?”

“I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

Itachi sighed gently, his head coming to rest on the pillow again as Sasuke settled in. It wasn’t uncommon for Sasuke to do this, he was a kind child, but an easily frightened one. Their father paid him little mind, more focused on Itachi and all the problems presented there. Because of this, Sasuke was free to be of a gentle nature. It was Itachi who was expected to step up into his father’s place, and it would be Itachi’s son after him. The constant burden weighed on his shoulders day after day, growing increasingly tough to handle. Itachi was still young, only 17, but it was no longer uncommon for the head of another family to pay them a visit, carrying a proposition of marriage for Itachi.

Itachi was rather fond of women. They rarely engaged in the barbarism of war, and the ones that did were different somehow from the men. He enjoyed their company, and didn’t mind the thought of settling in with a woman. Itachi had found one in particular whose company he enjoyed. Her name was Izumi, and her father was no stranger. In fact, he was Fugaku’s best friend. Itachi thought it was rather cliché, but there was no denying he liked Izumi, and she loved him in return. She was a very considerate soul, and always minded Itachi’s space and feelings. That was a rarity in his life.

 

But Itachi knew marriage would not be simple for him.

 

As much as he liked Izumi, he knew marrying her would subject her to a life of abuses, in one form or another. She would be expected to raise child after child while he would spend months away. She would be expected to be the perfect wife having married the head of the clan. Eyes would never leave her, some condescending, some lustful, and Itachi would not be there to protect her from any of it. She would become a target for assassins, both from outside the clan, and from within. She would be expected to watch quietly while women were sent Itachi’s way as some sort of sick “spoils of war” act and watch as they carried illegitimate children to be cast far away for the shame of it all.

 

And Itachi decided he cared too much for her to subject her to such a life.

 

But his father was not so agreeable. Though, he seldom was.

Fugaku persisted in the idea that Itachi marry Izumi, and that he marries her before his next birthday. The implication was that Itachi would know his first child before he reached his 19th birthday. It wasn’t uncommon, but it disturbed him.

 

 _I don’t even know myself. I would be no father to any child until I do,_ but no matter how many times Itachi lay awake thinking this, he couldn’t find the words when he looked his father in the eyes.

 

He never could.

 

“Hey, brother?” Sasuke’s voice was quiet, sounding heavy with sleep.

“Yes?”

“When will you be going off to war?”

Itachi laid in silence for a long moment before replying, “I don’t know. Do you want me to go?”

Sasuke shifted uncomfortably, “No.”

When a long moment passed, he continued, “I lied to you earlier.”

Itachi rolled over to face him, noticing now that his eyes were teary, “Hmm?”

Sasuke looked quite upset as he spoke, “The nightmare I had. You went off to war with dad and… you died…”

Itachi stroked his head gently as his tears interrupted him, “It’s all right now, Sasuke. It was just a dream, and I’m right here.”

Sasuke looked a bit meek when he met his brothers gaze, “But what if it happens? Dad wants you to go, what if you get hurt?”

Itachi patted him softly, “Sasuke, it’s no good to fear things we can’t change. We don’t know what the future holds, so there’s no sense in being afraid of it. Or else you’ll live your whole life being afraid, and you’ll miss out on the good things in life.”

Sasuke only blinked at him. Itachi knew he was probably too young to truly grasp what was being said to him, so he just smiled a little at him, “You should try to get some sleep now. I don’t know what the future holds, but for right now, I’m right beside you, and I’ll always be with you, no matter what happens.”

 

This time, Sasuke smiled, and closed his eyes to sleep.


	6. Wishful Thinking

Weeks passed sluggishly for Itachi. His father had, for the moment, left him alone about war propositions, and Itachi was free to lounge around the multiple sections of what they called a castle. These sections formed a sort of castle town around the main house. It was rather small, but Itachi had never minded that. The forest hugged up on all sides of the complex, and a lantern-lit path wound up to the main gate where the family crest sat at the top of a red gate. The path was lined with trees and Itachi very much enjoyed the walk.

 

Itachi seldom got to enjoy the small town. It was seen as below a member of the royal family to accept services from the townspeople when the royal family had their own chefs, seamstresses, and just about anything else Itachi could name. But it wasn’t the services Itachi enjoyed, it was the companionship.

 

Itachi strolled languidly through the silent complex and passed the red gate heading out onto the path. It was early, the sky graced with a tint of blue, but the sun had not risen yet. The weather had been warming, and the predawn atmosphere made Itachi draw a deep breath into his lungs, his body waking up as he did so. Hazy blue light melted onto the path where golden red lanterns illuminated the road ahead. Dew glittered on the grasses and fallen leaves off to either side.

 

Itachi sighed, _What a beautiful scene…_

He had been down to waters edge a few times since finding the first bottle about a week before, but he hadn’t found anything since. He arrived to the sea as the morning tide picked up, kicking off his sandals and striding into the lapping waves. The cold water touched his ankles with every wave, and the sand sunk beneath his feet, slithering from under his toes as the waves retreated.

 

As he paced along the shore to his usual sitting rock, he noticed the ghost crabs shuffling underfoot, their nighttime adventures coming to an end as the sun began to rise. In a moment of childish wonder, he stooped down and scooped one up along with sand and water. He studied it delicately in his palm as the crab watched him carefully. Taking the button of his finger, he traced the crabs shell, taking in every bump and detail on it. The crab scrunched its legs up, black eye stalks uncertainly glaring at the intrusion of its personal space. Eventually, the crab had enough, drawing its claws and pinching down hard on Itachi’s hand. It hurt a little, but Itachi chuckled shaking his tepid friend off and returning him to the sand where he watched him, indignantly, shuffle away. After taking a moment to look at the red spot on his hand where the crab had left him a piece of his mind, Itachi found his usual rock and hauled himself up, moving his weight gracefully with both of his hands.

 

Itachi felt his muscles sink into relaxation as he listened to the waves rhythmically dancing as the sun began to rise. The sun eventually crested the ridges and shed its light onto the water where the waves leapt to try and catch it, creating a dazzling display. The gulls were waking from their nests, the early birds beginning to take flight over the sea. Their black tails striking against the light of the water.

 

The sea breeze picked his hair up, caressing it in invisible fingers. Itachi’s eyes instinctively closed as the wind rushed over his face.

 

 _I wonder if I’ll find another bottle…_ that thought, Itachi decided, was rather intrusive to his serene mood.

 

Though the message had been rather depressing, Itachi couldn’t shake the desire to find another one. In fact, Itachi hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the person who’d wrote those words. He couldn’t begin to explain it, to him, it made little sense that he should be so wrapped up over it.

 

And yet here he was. Like some sort of supernatural force had drawn him to this thought.

 

Itachi’s chest heaved a sigh, _I wish-_

Itachi hadn’t finished his thought before fortune smiled upon him and his thoughts were answered.

 

As he had begun his thought, Itachi had opened his eyes, and in the early sunlight now, he caught the shimmer of a bottle resting in the sand where the tide had left it, and his heart caught in his throat.

 

He slid from the stone and dared to stride towards the bottle, his breath held in his throat as his heart raced. Itachi reached down tentatively to pick the bottle up, and again he recognized the long, curved neck of the bottle.

_A sake bottle._

And as sure as the day, rolled inside was a message.

 

This time, Itachi didn’t want to wait, didn’t want to be chastised by his father. Instead he walked back to the large rock, taking the bottle in hand, and carefully hitting it against a jagged edge of the stone. He managed to break part of the neck off without cutting himself this time. Carefully, he slid two slender fingers down the remaining length of the neck, pinching the paper between his fingers and sliding it out.

 

He unfurled the paper gently with deft fingers, releasing the breath he didn’t know he was holding as he did so. His eyes moved slowly over the neat writing, absorbing every word, every character, every detail in the way this man wrote, even taking the time to notice he was left handed. Itachi scarcely blinked the whole while.

_Never does a man imagine_

_That agony should befall him_

_Never could a man fathom_

_That life should feel like hell_

_When does a man predict_

_That a child shall be slain before him_

_When will a man convict_

_His brethren whose hands are stained with blood_

_Why does man not care_

_For the suffering of another_

_Why does man not love_

_Another as he does himself_

Itachi’s thumb rubbed a corner of the paper that had been torn. He read over the words many times, his heart feeling heavy. He understood the words. He didn’t simply read them, he truthfully understood them.

 

 _Tenma…_ he thought of the child that had been slain while he watched, punished on behalf of Itachi, who had gotten into an argument with a Ronin, and had gotten his best friend murdered.

 

The memory hurt anew, he’d spent years wishing for nothing more than to be able to go back to that day and simply walk away.

 

But he hadn’t. And no amount of wishing would change that fact.

 

The rogue soldiers-for-hire had decided that killing Itachi would cause them too much trouble, but they were determined to make him hurt. They were going to beat him senseless, knock his teeth out and break his ribs with the hilt of their swords.

 

But Tenma intervened.

 

And they decided, then, that they had a better idea.

 

Itachi stopped remembering. He had started crying again, and the pain growing in his heart caused his mind to shut down. Coherent thought melted from his head as he went numb. His mind had learned long ago how to shut down, how to stop him from feeling.

 

How to save him from hurting.

 

Itachi folded the paper back up, slipping into a pocket, and slumping down into the sand. He hugged his knees to his chest, his tears drying up in the breeze as he sat, thinking nothing. Feeling nothing. Just being.

 

Finally, his mind came back to him.

It was then it occurred to him, he wanted nothing more than to meet the man who shared his pain.


End file.
